The Best Laid Schemes
by Auntie Shred
Summary: A UN worker disappears after an attack in his home. Sequel to fanfic 'In Loco Parentis'. Takes place between season 7 episodes 'Kissinger' and 'Vanishing Act'.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:**A UN worker disappears after an attack in his home. Bobby Goren's POV.

****

**Setting:**

Sequel to fanfic _In Loco Parentis. _Takes place in season 7 between episodes _Kissinger_ and _Vanishing Act_.

**Disclaimer:** The Law & Order characters are owned by Dick Wolf. No infringement of rights is intended. This story is written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

She said yes. Bobby hadn't thought Eames would agree to go out dancing, especially since he practically apologized for asking before she had a chance to reply. She would hardly look at him, so he braced himself for a kind, firm No - but then she said yes.

He hadn't played fair. When he asked they were in an airplane, somewhere over New Jersey, with her in the window seat. She had no escape. Of course, he knew Eames wouldn't have any problem turning him down if she wasn't interested... so that must mean she was interested. She said yes.

They'd never discussed it, but Bobby knew she was leery of a dating relationship with her partner. He understood the risks, too. They were close; they were friends; they were best friends; but they'd both held back from a more intimate level. As reserved as he was about his personal life, Eames was more. On the job they'd found the secret of success in their partnership - although it had been stretched to the limit during his suspension and the aftermath. But even with their continued good solve rate, lately he'd felt they needed relief from the stress of the job - time together when they could relax. An evening of dancing would be perfect. When he promised it was for fun, it was as though a light went on in her eyes. He felt a surge of happiness to know she wanted the same thing he did.

She said yes – but also made it clear that they needed to discuss it further. He'd expected that, and agreed instantly. He would accept nearly any terms, as long as she didn't change her answer.

They finished their police business after landing at JFK Airport – delivering their prisoner to an Assistant District Attorney for arraignment – and were seated in a booth at a diner, waiting to place their orders, when Eames brought it up again. Bobby's heart was thumping with excitement, though he tried to keep his expression calm. He was pretty sure Eames was in the same state, since she wouldn't meet his eye for more than a second.

"So…" she said, spooning the ice out of her water glass into his, "I don't want one of those trendy dance clubs packed with anorexic twenty-somethings."

"It's nothing like that," Bobby said, sliding his glass closer to hers. He'd anticipated this requirement.

"It's not swing dancing, is it? I couldn't -"

"You'll like this place, I promise."

She glanced at him as she sipped her water. "Mmm." Clearly that had only been the first item on her list. "Any danger of a police raid?"

"No." Bobby winked. "We've had enough of those." He was gaining confidence that he could answer her concerns.

She waited until the waitress had taken their orders before bringing up her next point. "You can't call me Eames if we go out together," she said.

"Uh, what?" He stared at her blankly. Of all the conditions she might impose, this had never crossed his mind.

"I'm serious – can you get used to saying Alex?"

Bobby scratched his neck. That was a problem? "I call you Alex sometimes."

"Yeah, maybe six times in all the years we've worked together," she said with a smirk.

If that's what was important to her… "Okay, I'll work on it. Alex."

That earned him a big grin. "And here I thought you were too set in your ways!"

Instead of continuing, she shook out the napkin and began polishing her silverware. He couldn't make himself sit still as he waited for her to get to her next issue. He took slow breaths – but it didn't stop his restless motion. Finally he couldn't hold out any longer. "So, is - is this Friday okay for you?"

She ignored his question. "I think we should go Dutch."

Dutch. His pleasant feeling of anticipation evaporated. "Not a good idea," he said quietly.

"No, listen," she said, setting down the fork. "It is a good idea - for us, for this date."

Bobby reminded himself: she said yes. He clasped his hands together on the table and looked into her eyes. "Why can't it just be a normal date?"

She shook her hair back from her face. "Maybe because we're not a normal couple? Look, whatever happens with this date, I don't want to mess up our partnership, you know?"

"Yeah." That same fear had kept him from asking a long time ago.

"If it, umm, doesn't turn out the way we want," she said, arching her eyebrows, "then going Dutch will take the pressure off both of us."

He frowned – she was backing away and they hadn't even gone out yet. "You mean we can fool ourselves that it wasn't really a date."

"No, I mean…" She sighed loudly. "Bobby, we're way past first date stuff. We've known each other too long for that."

"It is a first date."

"I know. But for us it's more like another step – a really tricky step. On a normal first date, if things crash and burn you never have to see the other person again. But we have to show up the next day at Major Case."

It was a good point, but her approach was pessimistic. "And you think splitting the bill will avoid that?"

"Yes, I do. At least it'll make me feel better."

Bobby looked up at the ceiling as he slumped back against the cushion of the booth. Her idea wasn't unreasonable, and he knew he had to give in, but he didn't like planning for failure. She was making this more complicated than it needed to be. He wanted to take her out without fussing over tabs and tips. The return of the waitress with their food gave him extra time to think.

Once they were alone again Bobby asked, "And what if we somehow manage to have a good time?"

Her grin brought back the happy fluttering in his stomach. "Then," she said, "we can try a real date, like normal people." She snatched a couple fries from his plate.

Bobby was feeling hopeful again, but he knew Eames wasn't through yet. Maybe he could shortcut her list. "I'll pick you up around seven," he said, "if that works for you?"

"Wouldn't it be easier if I met you there?" she said. "You said this club was in Brooklyn – why come all the way out to Queens for me?"

She didn't sound determined about driving, so he knew it wasn't worth arguing that point right now. Her reply assumed they were indeed going out this Friday – that was the important thing. This was really going to happen.

"Why are you smiling like that?" she asked, leaning forward to steal another french fry.

He shrugged. "We're going out dancing."

"I can't decide if I feel eager or nervous about it."

"Me, too. Both, I guess."

"At least we only have to wait three days," she said. Eames focused her attention on dividing her spinach pie into two equal parts. She usually took home half of her dinner in a styrofoam container; Bobby found it amusing that she also usually felt the need to help him finish his plate. He was pulling toothpicks out of his club sandwich when she asked, "Your knee - is it bothering you?"

"No," he said. She looked like she didn't believe him, so he leaned forward. "It's fine, Alex." She smiled at his use of her name and even laughed when he added, "Besides, we're not swing dancing."

* * *

Bobby looked up as a stack of file folders landed loudly on his partner's desk. "I should have known this would happen," Eames said, dropping into her chair. "Friday morning; a date tonight…" She stared at Bobby fiercely, as though daring him to react in any way. "It's practically the weekend – and we catch a new case."

A man who worked at the UN as a translator had disappeared from his Upper East Side apartment, leaving behind signs of a desperate, bloody struggle. His son, returning home from college classes late Thursday night, discovered the chaos and called 9-1-1.

Bobby had met Eames at the crime scene around midnight, and had spent hours scouring the apartment, building and neighborhood for information and clues. They'd caught a few hours of sleep in the crib space upstairs at One PP. Now, at eight o'clock Friday morning, they'd already been working for three hours and two cups of coffee – but had no leads on the missing man. The detectives were approaching this case as a kidnapping and possible homicide. The wife was away, visiting family in South Korea.

Bobby rose, selected some of the folders and slid back into his chair. "I'd offer to cover for you," he said softly, "but…"

"Thanks ever so much." Her glare softened, but she didn't smile. Her eyes shifted to a point behind Bobby, and he turned as Captain Ross came to a stop beside their desks.

"This kidnapping is the lead story on every news station this morning," Ross said. He held his briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "Mr. Chun worked at the UN for fourteen years, and apparently has a spotless record. I've already had calls from the Commissioner and Mayor this morning." He shook his head. "What do we know so far?"

Bobby met Eames' glance, lifting his eyebrows slightly, silently asking her to begin. The captain had been irritable with him that week, and neither partner had been able to figure out why. Bobby hated having to tiptoe around him.

Eames showed no sign of her impatience as she said, "It's probably someone Mr. Chun knows: there was no forced entry or robbery. It looks like he was preparing a meal at the time. The weapon was a kitchen knife, left on the floor, but CSU couldn't get any clear prints. The lab said they'll rush the results on the blood to see if it's from more than one person."

"There's been no contact, no ransom demands?" Ross asked.

She shook her head. "Our techs set up recording equipment on the home line, but so far… nothing. He didn't turn up at any Manhattan hospitals, and we've been contacting hospitals in a wider circle."

"Did the neighbors see or hear anything?" the captain asked, looking back and forth between the partners. So far he seemed non-hostile.

"We interviewed some of them last night," Eames replied. "Mr. Chun was seen coming home around six o'clock, as usual for him. No one noticed a thing until the police arrived."

"It figures," Ross said with a grimace.

Bobby decided it was safe to speak. "The amount of blood indicates a serious wound, but there's no blood trail out of the apartment, except for a smudge in the elevator. It looks like the attacker took the time to bind up Mr. Chun's wounds. Some bathroom towels were missing, and the drawer with the first aid things had been rummaged." He looked from Eames to the captain. "This probably wasn't planned – maybe an argument that escalated. Mr. Chun might not have realized it was a kidnapping; he may have thought he was being taken to a hospital. He went along quietly, which is why no one heard anything."

"Hmm. Anything on the building's surveillance tapes?" Ross asked.

"It's not much help," Eames said. "We have the tape from the camera in the ground floor lobby. The building has a rear exit through the basement garage, but the camera down there is just a dummy. The Chuns' car is in their regular space."

"Is it possible he didn't leave the building?" Ross asked.

"The building was canvassed," Eames said. "No sign of him."

"Do you suspect the son?" Ross asked.

"No." Bobby shuffled through the notes in his binder. "Jae Chun has classes at Hunter College until eight on Thursdays. He told us he ate at a diner after class with his pre-med study group, and went back to the college library until nearly eleven."

"That checks out," Eames added. "We got a statement from the diner manager last night. The kids eat there regularly, and he remembers seeing Jae. He doesn't appear on the apartment's security tape until half past eleven."

Bobby said, "We requested the key card log from the library - it should be faxed here this morning."

"Okay, it looks like his alibi is solid," Ross said. "And the wife's out of the country. She's been gone – what – two weeks?" Both detectives nodded.

"She's due back tomorrow night," Bobby said.

"Interesting timing. Do we have any suspects at all?" Ross asked.

Eames replied, "Jae told us his father had complained about a coworker who'd been promoted above him. Mr. Chun felt he was the one who deserved the promotion. We'll be talking to his director at the UN." She glanced over to Bobby and then back to the captain. "Of course, none of them shows up for work before ten o'clock." Bobby knew she was annoyed at the delay – it increased their chance of having to work late.

Ross nodded. "All right, keep me posted," he said as he turned toward his office. "I have to update the Commissioner at two."

After the captain's door closed, Eames leaned her forearms on the desk and said, "Jae told us his father was translating for a conference yesterday, right?"

"Yes…" Bobby quickly scanned the son's statement. "It was an economic forum all day yesterday and the day before."

"We need to find out if that coworker was there, too." She checked her notes. "Mr. Haruka."

Bobby rubbed his jaw. "I wonder if there really was a conflict at work, or if Mr. Chun just…" He shrugged. "…just vented his disappointment at home. About the promotion."

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe he vented at work, too, and got Haruka ticked off enough to confront him. But we won't be able to find out until we actually talk to someone at the UN…" She tapped her pen, and Bobby knew she was seeing the hours of the day slip away. He didn't want to miss their date, either, but he felt comforted to know it was important to her.

"Eames." He leaned as far forward as he could. "It'll be all right," he said in a low voice. "If we have to postpone-"

"I know," she whispered. "Rain check." She quickly scanned the squad room, and Bobby did the same – no one was paying attention to them. Eames continued in a stronger voice, "Anyway, I'd rather not waste our time this morning waiting for the UN folks to turn up. Do you have the list of neighbors?"

"Yes… Here." Bobby held it out as he dragged his chair around to her desk. Eames snatched the paper with a smile, smoothed it out on her desktop, and rolled her seat a little to the side to make room for him. Bobby liked reading over her shoulder like this; they never touched, but each turned a little toward the other, and it felt like they'd blocked out the rest of the squad room.

"You know," Eames said with a quick glance at his face, "we probably have time to try some of these neighbors we missed last night. And we can talk to Jae again."

"We should also take another look at the apartment. You saw those boxes stacked in the corner of the dining room and both bedrooms?"

She nodded. "Mover's boxes. The neighbors have known the Chuns for years, so does that mean they're moving out?"

"Or maybe they use them for storage."

"I don't know – the boxes looked new." She leaned a tiny bit closer and dropped her voice. "So, you're growing your beard again?"

Bobby rubbed his four-day stubble. "Maybe." He wasn't sure he wanted a beard, but mornings had been rushed lately and he'd skipped shaving. If she complained about it, he'd shave for their date.

At that moment they both saw Ross vigorously signaling to them from inside his office. He had the phone against his ear and he looked annoyed. By the time they reached him, he'd hung up.

"You need to get to the Chun's apartment right away," he said. "Mrs. Chun is there now, making a huge scene about her husband being missing and about the telecom guy camped in her living room."

A wide-eyed Eames turned toward Bobby, then back to the captain. She ran fingers through her hair as she frowned. "She's back a day early?"

"Obviously someone got her flight info wrong," Ross said, looking pointedly at Bobby.

Bobby bristled, but kept his voice calm, turning his palms up. "Captain, the son showed us her itinerary –"

"-and the return flight was Saturday, October 24th." Eames finished his sentence. Bobby could tell she was also making an effort to stay composed. "We have the airline print-out, sir," she said, pointing toward their desks and moving slightly forward, drawing Ross' attention to herself.

Ross took a deep breath, then another, and finally said, "Okay, so she changed her flight. Just get over there and calm her down before she shows up on television."

Bobby started moving before the captain finished speaking, but even so, Eames was a couple steps ahead of him. They didn't say a word as they gathered their things and grabbed their coats.

There were others on the elevator as they headed down. Bobby knew Eames wanted him to look at her, but he kept his gaze on the panel of buttons. He welcomed her support, but when Ross' attacks came out of thin air like this, Bobby could only concentrate on keeping his temper under control. Dealing with her anger as well would make it even harder.

They reached the parking level and stepped out. "You don't need to say it," Bobby said quietly, still avoiding her eyes. He strode through the garage. When he reached their SUV he turned and saw that Eames hadn't tried to keep up with his rapid pace.

As she strolled toward him, she said, "If we had a clue what was setting him off we could deal with it, but it seems completely random."

Bobby shifted his leather binder from one hand to the other, then back again. He pulled on the door handle: she hadn't unlocked the car. He finally looked her in the eye. Her wry grin as she twirled the key chain on her finger relieved his tension a bit.

"He should have apologized to you."

"Eames, please…" Bobby didn't want to waste energy griping about the captain's moods. He tugged at the door again, but she closed her fist around the keys. She surprised him by grasping his forearm and squeezing hard.

"I needed to say that." She released him and walked around to the driver's side. He heard the clunk of the locks opening, and slid into his seat.

She started the engine, but didn't put the car in gear yet. She looked down at the steering wheel. "As long as you know and I know…"

Bobby nodded. "I do know. Thanks."

"We're good, then," she said, and pulled out of the parking space. Just like that, the tightness in Bobby's chest eased.


	2. Chapter 2

"No! I do not allow!" Mrs. Chun had answered the doorbell, but when the detectives identified themselves she stalked away, leaving the door wide open. Jae came forward to apologize and invite them in, and then hurried after his mother.

Mrs. Chun turned in the entry to the kitchen and glared at them with crossed arms. She still wore a coat, and her luggage sat in the middle of the living room. Bobby couldn't make out what Jae was saying in a low, urgent voice to his mother. She refused to be calmed. "You do not understand!" she shouted in Korean. "The police – they cannot help your father. They only make it worse for him!" She waved her hand wildly toward the telecom technician, who sat uneasily beside his tape recorder.

As Jae continued to reason with his mother, her agitation did not ease at all. She seemed fearful and angry, both of which were understandable responses, but there was something off in her behavior. Bobby exchanged a glance with his partner. Why didn't Mrs. Chun want the police's assistance?

Eames said, "Mrs. Chun, if the kidnapper calls, this equipment may help us trace your husband's location. The first twenty-four hours after a kidnapping–"

"No, no, you make more danger," Mrs. Chun cried. "You make worse."

"More danger? Mom, he's hurt – badly," Jae said, pointing at the blood stains on the floor and furniture. "We have to find him!"

"They make worse," Mrs. Chun repeated, averting her face from the crime scene.

She was within her rights to throw them out – they needed to be careful. Bobby took a step forward. "My partner and I don't want to cause trouble. If you could answer a few questions, we won't need to stay long." He hoped he could reassure her and learn more about her anxiety.

She seemed to relent somewhat, so he cleared his throat. "Could I ask you for a glass of water?" he asked.

Mrs. Chun nodded and turned into the kitchen. Bobby saw Eames put her hand on Jae's arm to draw him toward the living room. Bobby wandered into the spacious kitchen beyond Mrs. Chun, trying to keep her attention away from Eames and Jae.

"I noticed your flight itinerary," Bobby said, pointing to the sheet which was prominently displayed on the refrigerator. "I see you follow the Korean tradition."

That threw her off balance. "What do you mean?"

He touched the top of the page. "I mean," he continued, "you haven't taken your husband's name – you're listed here as Park, not Chun. Were you married in South Korea?"

She nodded, a little more at ease. "Yes, in Seoul." She held out the glass to him. "Here in America, I use my husband's name, but not for passport, not for… official."

"Did they already contact you?" he asked. He kept his voice gentle, but even so she flinched. "Did they threaten you about talking to the police?"

"No, there is no call, nothing," she said. "I'm just so worried."

Bobby studied her. He still wasn't sure if she simply had an unusual response to the stress of the situation, or if she was hiding something. "I know what it feels like," he said quietly. "Someone close to me was kidnapped a couple years ago." He felt his heart speed up at the memory. "I was frantic."

That got her attention immediately. Her eyes snapped to his. "What happened?"

"She was able to escape, but not before she'd been tortured." He didn't often talk about the harrowing experience, and hadn't expected to be so strongly affected. His throat tightened, and he took a sip of water to hide his distress.

"I hope she's all right now," Mrs. Chun said.

Bobby nodded, and forced himself not to glance out into the other room where Eames was talking quietly to Jae. "You understand, it's important to work quickly to find your husband." He stepped closer to her, and once again tapped the flight itinerary. "Jae told us he expected you tomorrow night. Did your husband know you were returning today?"

Her reaction was very mild. "No, I changed at last minute. I saved two hundred dollar, so I took earlier flight." She showed no guilt or uneasiness – in fact, she seemed pleased.

Bobby smiled at her pride in her thriftiness. The apartment was spacious, with good quality furnishings and an impressive view of Central Park. The Chuns must have a comfortable income to live in this high-priced neighborhood – and yet she jumped at a chance to save a relatively small amount. He made a mental note to check their financials. Could money be the reason for the kidnapping?

"Were you in Seoul for your business?" Bobby asked. Jae had told them last night she ran an import company.

"Yes, some business, but also for family," she replied. She was more on edge now. "My parents are old, so every year I visit."

He nodded, then opened his leather binder and made a show of checking his notes. He scratched his neck as he said, "So… do you know any reason why your husband would be attacked?"

That got a strong reaction: for a moment she glanced at the doorway as though she wanted to run, but she quickly hid her fear. She shook her head as she said, "Everyone like him, everyone friendly to him. He is a good man." She crossed her arms tightly.

Bobby asked, "Did he have problems at work?"

She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "No, he is very good at job. He hope to get a promotion, but we have to wait until next year."

That was very different from Jae's explanation of the situation at the UN, though Bobby wasn't sure it was significant. They needed to find out how Mr. Chun's director at the UN viewed the matter of the promotion. Bobby scribbled a few words before he spoke again.

"Mrs. Chun, we'd like to keep the phone tap in place for the rest of the day. If the kidnapper is going to call, it's likely to be within the first twenty-four hours."

She sighed. "Okay, but today only."

Bobby glanced out into the living room; Eames was already tucking her notepad into her coat pocket and buttoning up. "If you think of anything that may help, please contact us." He handed his card to her.

As they were walking down the hallway to the elevator, Eames said, "Jae told me about the mover's boxes: the Chuns moved upstairs from the third floor just about two months ago."

"To a bigger apartment?" Bobby asked as he reached out to punch the elevator call button.

"Nope, same size. But this one," she said, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder, "comes with a lovely scenic view of Central Park from the living room and master bedroom – not to mention a big hike in rent. They were on a waiting list for a long time."

"We need to see that list."

"Jae already told me some names. Two of their neighbors from the third floor wanted to move on up, too: the Russos and the Wellmans. Practically everyone wants an apartment with a view."

"I think money's tight," Bobby said. "Mrs. Chun came back early just to save two hundred dollars on her flight. They might have been counting on Mr. Chun getting that promotion to afford the new rent. She wasn't very forthcoming about her import business."

Eames raised her eyebrows. "Money problems – how many times have we seen it?"

On the third floor they knocked on doors of the two neighbors, but only Mrs. Russo was home. She was a good-looking woman, probably about the same age as Bobby. Her hair was a little shorter than Eames', and several shades lighter. She didn't invite them in.

"I heard about poor Mr. Chun," she said. "I hope he's all right." Her concern seemed forced.

"How did you hear?" Eames asked.

"From Janet Wellman." Mrs. Russo pointed down the hall. "She's the neighbor on the other side of the Chuns – their old apartment, I mean. I met Janet this morning, and she told me. Our Jason and the Wellmans' two daughters and Jae Chun have been friends since grade school." Her words were rushed and nervous.

Bobby had turned sideways and edged forward until his shoulder rested on the door frame. "Could we, um…?" He tilted his head into the apartment.

"I'm sorry, but I really – I was just getting ready to go out."

He slid his foot over the threshold as Eames said, "Oh, we're in a hurry, too. We only need to ask a few questions."

Mrs. Russo reluctantly pulled the door open for them. Bobby went directly into the living room. Sure enough, the view was unspectacular: the window faced a five-story building sporting a large sign for shoes. The noise of traffic was considerably louder at this level.

"Wow, what a difference, right Eames?" he said with a big smile, swinging his arm to indicate the window. "No wonder the Chuns wanted to move upstairs!" He leaned lightly against the glass to gaze out, confident that his partner was observing Mrs. Russo's reaction. "They get so much more daylight – and the view!"

When he turned back, both women were seated. Mrs. Russo looked uncomfortable – she was regretting allowing them in. Bobby began a slow inspection of the photos on the wall and coffee tables as Eames flipped open her notepad.

"Did you or your husband or son go out yesterday evening?" Eames asked.

"My son doesn't live here," she said.

Bobby snatched up a framed photo of a cheerful, dirty young man standing before a wide field of oil pump-jacks. "Is this Jason?"

"Yes," she replied, hardly looking at the picture. "He moved to Texas last winter."

"He's not in college?" Bobby asked. He selected a picture of Jason in cap and gown with his parents on his left and right, studied their faces for a moment, then handed it to Eames.

Mrs. Russo replied, "Jason went to NYU for a year, but he decided to work for a while before he finishes college." From her fidgeting, this was probably a sore spot for her. Did she wish her son would go to medical school like Jae Chun?

As Bobby continued his tour of the room he noticed the dining room table. The lace tablecloth was pushed all to one side, and the exposed veneer had been damaged by water. A glance at the ceiling showed the likely cause: the section directly above the table was also water-stained. It looked like a recent problem.

"Was there a broken water pipe?" he asked, pointing at the ceiling.

"Yes, something like that," she replied, checking her wrist watch. "I really need–"

"This table looks old," he said. "I guess you'll have to replace it."

"No," she said, glaring at him. "Not at all – it was my grandmother's. We're going to have it restored."

"Thank goodness for insurance," Eames said.

"You're on the waiting list for an upper-floor apartment, aren't you?" Bobby asked, sitting on the sofa beside Mrs. Russo. "What's your number on the list?"

She shifted away from him. "I don't know. They don't tell us that." Now she looked annoyed.

Eames smiled tightly at Bobby, which meant she wanted to get back to her original question. "So…" she said. "What about you and your husband, Mrs. Russo? Did you go out in the evening?"

"Me? I came in around four, and didn't go out again. My husband worked late yesterday. He's a manager at a Wall Street firm: Bailey Montrose." Mrs. Russo was becoming more and more restive. "I really ought to get going," she said, glancing at her watch again.

"We understand that Mrs. Chun runs an import company," Eames said, lowering her voice and leaning forward. "Is it true she's having financial problems?" Bobby glanced at his partner. The Chuns certainly wouldn't have confided any such trouble to their neighbors – but that never stopped a determined gossip.

Mrs. Russo was a little more at ease, now that the focus was off her. "I know she's been trying to expand the business, but it's not as successful as she hoped."

"She probably over-expanded," Bobby said. He slid a little closer to Mrs. Russo. "You know – tried to grab for too much too soon. And if they spend beyond their means…"

"Well, I don't know about that," Mrs. Russo said, "but tuition at Hunter… It's not cheap, you know. And she does work night and day, weekends – all the time."

"Sounds like me," Eames said with a quick glance at Bobby. "So… your husband came in at what time last night?"

"Oh, ah, it was – about eight o'clock, maybe?" She stood up. "If you don't have any more questions…"

The detectives also rose. "We'd like to talk to him," Eames said, handing her card to Mrs. Russo, "in case he saw something that might help us."

Back in the hallway again, Bobby only waited for the sound of the door closing before he said, "She didn't want to talk about her husband. She's nervous about something."

"Yeah, she made me nervous, too. There's no way she doesn't know their number on the waiting list," Eames said, shaking her head. "I bet she thought they were ahead of the Chuns."

"I got that impression," he said. "The building super will know where they are on the list." When she checked the time he added, "Or do we need to get to the UN?"

The elevator opened and Eames stepped in. "Nah, you know they're going to keep us waiting no matter when we get there." She pushed the button for the basement level. "Do you remember seeing Mr. Russo on the security tapes?"

"I think so, but we need to look again to get the time." He looked at Eames steadily – they were thinking on the same track. Their chat with Mrs. Russo had sent up red flags. "I wonder if the Russos keep a car in the basement garage?"

She grinned. "Another good reason to have that chat with the super."


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby didn't want to look at Eames: she was quietly fuming. They'd rushed to make it to their appointment at the UN on time, but had been left sitting outside Mr. Chun's director's office for nearly fifteen minutes. Eames was becoming more impatient by the minute. The information they'd gotten from the building superintendent could be helpful, and they needed to get back to their computers and those security tapes. He wanted to reassure her, but it was impossible in the small waiting area – even a whisper would be overheard.

When she checked her cell phone for the sixth time, Bobby rose and approached the receptionist. The young woman smiled apologetically.

"I'm sure Mr. Zimmer will be here in a few minutes, Detective," she said. "He's expecting you – I sent him a text message."

"I wonder if Mr. Haruka is in," Bobby said. "We need to see him, too."

She turned to look at her computer, and clicked the mouse a few times. "Mr. Haruka is due in today at… let me see… not till noon." She glanced up. "Sorry."

Bobby glided around the desk to see her screen: it was some kind of spreadsheet. He leaned closer, trying to decipher the columns and rows. He found Haruka's name, then Chun's; they were scheduled for a session together Friday afternoon, along with three others. "Was he translating for the same conference as Mr. Chun yesterday?" In his peripheral vision he saw that Eames was sitting very still, intently studying her cell phone – which meant she was paying full attention to him.

She said, "You know, I think Mr. Zimmer should be the one to go over this with you," and reached for her mouse to close the file.

"Okay," he said, backing off a step. "We heard that Mr. Haruka and Mr. Chun are good friends."

The woman snorted in derision. "I don't know who you heard that from!" She immediately sucked in a quick breath and added, "I mean, they've always been very, um, they've always worked together very professionally."

"Uh-huh. Is it true that Mr. Haruka was promoted recently?"

"Yes – well," she said, still off balance. "I mean, he passed a series of tests and training for his new position."

"And Mr. Chun now reports to him," Bobby said.

The receptionist nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"Goren." When Bobby looked toward his partner she was holding up her phone to indicate she had news. He crossed the room and sat beside her again. She leaned close to whisper into his ear. "The neighborhood canvass turned up two security videos that show the apartment's garage entrance. Those overnight tapes are at Major Case – if we ever get back there."

Her phone chirped, and she flipped it open. "Eames…. Yes sir, we're waiting for Chun's director, but he-" Her eyes widened, and her lips tightened into an angry line. Her eyes flicked over to meet Bobby's – it wasn't good news. "Right…. Okay…. Yes sir." She snapped the phone shut.

Bobby waited as she took a deep breath – she was probably counting to ten. He knew better than to question her before she was ready. He kept his eyes on her, and in a few moments she'd recovered enough to give him a grim smile and a nudge with her elbow.

"Our friend there," she said loudly, gesturing toward the shiny brass plate on Mr. Zimmer's office door, "is in the middle of a press conference about Mr. Chun out in front of the UN." Eames stood as she told the receptionist, "He must have forgotten to mention it to you. We'll just meet him downstairs and chat with him after he's done with the reporters." The woman looked away guiltily.

They stepped out into the hallway. Eames spoke softly as they approached the bank of elevators. "Ross said Zimmer's going on about supporting the police and cooperating to find Mr. Chun. He wants us to invite him back to One PP."

Bobby tilted his head to look more closely at her. Her anger had dissipated, though the energy remained. "Eames?"

She sighed deeply. "I'm okay, Bobby. Look, let's talk to Zimmer. If he clears Haruka, I really don't want to waste any more time, with Mr. Chun out there somewhere."

Bobby nodded. "We need to see those new tapes." He was sure they would provide some clue about Mr. Chun's disappearance.

* * *

"Please make yourselves comfortable, detectives." Mr. Zimmer's English was excellent. His accent sounded German, but with some significant differences. Bobby had asked – he was born in Holland and able to speak and translate Dutch, German and French.

Eames had suggested they hold off asking him back to Major Case as their captain had said. Bobby agreed. If it didn't seem likely that Mr. Chun's coworker was involved in his disappearance, neither detective wanted to waste time moving Zimmer there and back.

When they'd reached the press conference, the cameras had just been turned off. Mr. Zimmer had immediately ushered them back upstairs to a meeting room, with apologies for the delay in meeting with them. He seemed sincerely worried about Mr. Chun, though he obviously was enjoying the excitement and attention.

Bobby took a moment to look around the UN meeting room where Mr. Zimmer had led them. The oval conference table was made of highly polished mahogany; the padded chairs looked solid and comfortable; the credenza along the far wall matched the table; even the light fixtures and framed prints looked expensive. Bright sunlight angled in through vertical blinds.

"May I offer you coffee?" Mr. Zimmer asked.

They both declined. Eames took a seat at the near end of the table, and Bobby sat beside her.

As Bobby opened his binder, Mr. Zimmer said, "I've asked one of our supervisors to join us, as well as an advisor. They should be here very soon…"

"Advisor?" Eames said, with a quick glance at Bobby. She was annoyed – more delays. "You mean a lawyer?"

"He comes only as an observer," Mr. Zimmer said.

"Mr. Zimmer," Bobby said, "We haven't accused you or anyone at the UN. We just have some questions about work schedules and Mr. Chun's relationship with his coworkers."

"I understand, Detective Goren," he replied with a diplomatic smile. "But there are procedures I must follow."

Eames asked, "Will Mr. Haruka be here?"

"I am very sorry," Mr. Zimmer said, "but we have not been able yet to contact him. He was not expected until this afternoon."

As Mr. Zimmer went to the window to adjust the blinds, Bobby turned to look at Eames – was Haruka's absence significant? She shrugged in response.

The door opened at that moment, and a man and a woman entered. The woman was tall and blonde – possibly Scandinavian; the man was Indian and at least six inches shorter than the woman. Mr. Zimmer introduced them as Ms. Wilhelm, a supervisor in the translation department, and Mr. Shah from the legal advisory group.

Once everyone was seated, Bobby let Eames begin the questions. "Thank you for seeing us," she said. "Mr. Chun's son told us he was translating for an all-day conference yesterday."

"Yes, he was" Ms. Wilhelm said, holding out a paper to Eames. "I printed out his schedule for the week." Her accent was not European at all – she sounded like she grew up in the Midwest. "He's a very good translator, and a valuable member of our team."

Eames looked at the page briefly and handed it over to Bobby. "Did he have any problems with his coworkers?" she asked.

Ms. Wilhelm and Mr. Zimmer exchanged a glance, and Bobby immediately spoke up. "What was his relationship with Mr. Haruka?"

Mr. Zimmer leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin – clearly he didn't want to handle this question. Ms. Wilhelm replied, "To be honest, there's always been competition between the two of them – but I never felt there was any serious animosity. They've worked together a lot, with no complaints."

"But Mr. Haruka was promoted, and Mr. Chun wasn't," Eames said.

"That was mainly a matter of seniority," Ms. Wilhelm said with a shrug. "And Mr. Haruka has been very fair to everyone in his group as far as assignments. Whenever Mr. Chun has requested overtime work, he's been able to get as many hours as he wanted."

"Is that usual for him?" Bobby asked. "Asking for overtime?"

"Hmm, I'd say he's done more than usual in the past few months," Ms. Wilhelm replied, "but I don't have those records with me just now."

"When did Mr. Haruka leave work yesterday?" Eames asked.

"He was here for a late video conference with Tokyo," Ms. Wilhelm said. "It began at nine, and he worked with another Japanese translator. I saw them on their way into the meeting."

"That would be, um, seven in the morning Tokyo time," Bobby said. "How long did the meeting run?" He was scribbling notes as he spoke.

"It was nearly midnight when they closed the video link," Ms. Wilhelm said. "Both of the translators were there for the full meeting, with a twenty-minute break around ten-thirty."

"Okay, thank you," Eames said. She looked at Bobby – she was ready to go, and was giving him his chance for a last question. He shook his head. This lead was going nowhere.

* * *

"So, Zimmer definitely alibied Chun's coworker?" Ross asked.

"Yes, sir," Bobby replied. He shuffled his feet and shoved his hands further into his pockets. He knew Captain Ross had a habit of repeating his questions in a slightly different form, probably to make sure he was getting the story straight. As an interrogation technique it was clever – a person who was lying would likely slip up – but at the moment it was needless delay. They'd already given him their report.

"What about the friction between Haruka and Chun?" Another unnecessary question.

"As we said, they admitted there's competition," Eames said, her voice calm, "but it never caused problems. Zimmer promised that he and Haruka would be available if we need to talk to them."

"We know money is an issue for the Chuns," Bobby added, trying to move the discussion on. "Mr. Chun began requesting overtime in the past few months."

Ross was silent for a couple seconds. "So it's not a coworker. You don't suspect the wife?"

"No," Bobby said. "She did change her flight to get back earlier, but that didn't put her in New York before the kidnapping."

What about the neighbors?"

Eames replied, "There may be some leads there. One neighbor's car that's usually in the garage on weekdays was out when the super took us down there this morning. We need to view the new security tapes from the apartment lobby and from two businesses on the back street."

Ross turned toward his office. "Keep me updated."

Eames dropped into her chair. "We always do," she muttered once Ross was out of hearing range. She grabbed the stack of video tapes from her desk and shoved them into Bobby's hands. "You start with these. I'll check the Chuns' finances."

* * *

"Hey, you got anything yet?" Eames leaned into the video room, hanging onto the doorframe with one hand. Bobby swiveled his chair around.

For the past forty-five minutes he'd been watching the security tapes from the two businesses that faced the garage entrance of the Chun's building. Using two televisions side by side had been tricky at first, but once the tapes were synchronized it was easy enough to keep track of the action, even at fast-forward speed.

He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "No, but I'm only as far as nine-fifteen." When he looked up again, he realized Eames was excited about something. Her animation was contagious; he put down the remotes and sat up straighter. "You found something."

She nodded and stepped a little closer. "Mrs. Chun's import business has been in and out of red ink for the past year. Then, two months ago her account shows a deposit of 105,000 dollars - in cash."

"That would be just when they needed to pay the security deposit on the new apartment."

"Yeah," she said, "that, plus tuition to Hunter College and a vendor payment that was nearly thirty days late. The full 105 was paid out within twenty-four hours."

Bobby pivoted his chair left and right as he pondered. "What about the past two weeks while she was in Korea? Any transactions?"

"Funny you should ask," she said, glancing at a paper in her hand. "Just three days ago 116,000 was transferred into her account from a Korean National Bank account. I couldn't trace a name on that account."

"It'll be her parents' – she told me she visited them in Seoul."

She nodded. "Two days ago all but a couple hundred of it was paid out to a single cashier's check – probably just before she got on the plane to come home."

"So it was a two month loan, with nearly eleven thousand in interest. That would make the rate... uh… You know, Deakins was always quick with this kind of math in his head."

"Yeah, that amazed me, too. Me, I use a calculator. It comes out to five percent per month: loan shark rates."

"It would explain why she was so afraid of involving the police. But…" Bobby held up a finger. "But if she paid back the loan two days ago, would they kidnap her husband yesterday?"

"Hmm. No. Maybe she didn't deliver the cashier's check in time?"

"Maybe. But why not call to make their demands, or set him free once they got their money?" He looked at her steadily. "It doesn't fit, Eames. This was someone he knew - someone he went with voluntarily."

"Yeah… It just seems like the timing's too perfect to be coincidental." She turned to stare at the TV screen where Bobby had paused the security tape. She pulled over another chair and sat beside him. "Was there anything interesting on the video?"

"Three cars entered the garage after six o'clock," he said. He picked up a folder, opened it and placed it in her hands. He pointed to some yellow highlighted lines. "The plates match with the car owner list we got from the super, but none of them is on the waiting list for upper-floor apartments. They were all interviewed last night."

She examined the list, then looked back up at the TV. "Nobody went out?"

"Not so far."

"Mrs. Russo said her husband came in around eight. Did you have a chance to go back through the apartment lobby tape to check for him coming in from work?"

Bobby pointed to two cassettes on top of the TV set. "Not yet, and we also have the overnight-to-morning tape now."

"I'll do them," she said. "Don't you want lunch?"

He took a deep breath, and realized he was feeling hungry. "Is it that late?"

Eames' frown wasn't convincing. "It wouldn't do any good to buy you a new watch, would it?" she said.

He pushed his sleeve up to reveal his watch and shrugged. "Probably not." He allowed himself to smile at her dig. "Umm, I'd like to watch these tapes at least through the time Jae got home."

She stood. "You keep going with the videos. I've been thinking deli all morning. That okay with you?"

Before he had a chance to reply she was out the door. She hadn't even asked what he wanted, but he wasn't worried. He went back to his side-by-side TVs, and quickly lost track of the time. His eyes flitted back and forth between the two screens.

There!

A car appeared at the garage exit, inched out past the curb and turned right, moving directly through the viewing field of both cameras. He rewound one tape and watched again. It was a silver sedan – it looked like a Lincoln Continental – and Bobby could vaguely make out a driver and front seat passenger. He was pretty sure whose car it was.


	4. Chapter 4

Bobby studied the scene on tape several times. The street wasn't well lit, and the camera angle made it impossible to identify the faces, but one tape gave a decent view of the license plate. He grabbed the printout they'd gotten from the building superintendent and scanned the list: as he thought, the plate number was there.

Eames needed to see this. He stepped out into the squad room. Her coat was gone - right, she was at the deli nearby. She should be back soon. He watched the elevators for half a minute, then decided to keep scanning the tapes to see if the Continental returned.

Back in the video room he noted the time stamp – 9:53 PM – and began fast-forwarding. He only watched one tape this time. Two cars entered the garage at 10:42 and 11:05, but neither was the Continental.

He'd run the tape past 1 AM by the time Eames returned.

"I've never seen that place not busy," she said with a grin, "but somehow they keep the line moving." Her cheeks were still pink from the brisk wind outside. "I grabbed us an interview room to eat."

Bobby pointed at the TV screen. "I found something."

She was instantly at his side, leaning against him lightly as she looked between the two TVs. "What? Whose car?"

"The Russos'."

She turned to him, her eyes wide and amused. "I knew that lady was too nervous."

Bobby described what he'd seen, then let her examine the second tape while he kept rolling forward to see if the car returned. She was squinting at the screen, trying to see the passenger when she said, "We have to question Mrs. Russo again – this could be Chun in the front seat."

Bobby nodded. "In any case, why didn't she tell us her husband went out two hours after he got home? I'll get Ross." He stood, but Eames stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"He's not here right now," she said. "I passed him with Jeffreys and those guys on their way to the cafeteria."

"Then… I'll finish out this tape to see if the Continental ever returned." It wasn't likely, but it was best to be sure.

"I don't know about you," Eames said, "but I'm hungry. I don't think your lunch will be safe alone with me. Let's take a break now, and we can update the captain when he gets back." She plucked at Bobby's sleeve and he gave in immediately.

"Okay." He straightened his papers, laid them on his chair and followed her out. He said, "The new tape from the apartment lobby will show us if Mr. Russo left the building for work as usual this morning."

"If not," Eames said, leading the way through the maze of desks, "where, oh where has he been all night? If his car has GPS we might be able to track him. Oh, hang on…" She stopped and backtracked to her own desk. "Just a sec."

When she sat down, Bobby looked over her shoulder as she worked at her computer. She pulled up information about Bailey Montrose, Mr. Russo's firm, and then made a phone call. She asked for Gregory Russo, waited as she was transferred, asked again, listened for a few moments, and then thanked the person on the other end of the call.

She was serious as she looked up at Bobby. "What do you know? He called in sick today. Funny how his wife didn't mention that to us, either." She stood and continued toward the interview room.

Bobby said, "We should find out if they have relatives in the area. Or if…" As they entered the room a delicious smell greeted them, and Bobby paused to take a deep breath: a wonderful, sharp aroma of cider vinegar and oregano made his mouth water.

Eames was already unwrapping her sandwich. "I got us both the Italian special," she said. "Yours has oil and vinegar."

"Thanks." They were quiet for several minutes as they took the edge off their hunger. Bobby was reaching into the paper bag for a napkin when Eames spoke.

"So," she said, "it's not going to happen tonight, is it?"

Bobby had been expecting her to mention their date. He studied her face for a few moments – she looked disappointed. At least that was better than looking relieved, he reasoned.

He must have gazed at her too long, or looked nervous. "It's not a trick question, Bobby," she said. "I just mean…" She spread her hands, palms up. "Unless Mr. Chun walks through the door in the next ten minutes…"

"Yeah." He wiped his fingers. "But I promise, I mean it, Alex, we'll go out."

"Eventually," she said, and took another bite of her sandwich.

"How about next Friday?" He enjoyed the surprised expression on her face. Had she thought he would give up that easily? "Or Saturday?"

She took her time chewing and swallowing. "I think Friday's better. Let me check with my sister, in case I promised to babysit."

"Okay. Feel better now?"

Eames smiled wryly, and turned her paper bag so it opened toward Bobby. "Yes, in fact I'll even let you have my pickle."

They ate quickly, and were back at the TV sets when they saw the captain enter the squad room. Bobby paused the tape and rose. Ross glanced toward him with a questioning look, and Bobby gestured over his shoulder into the video room. "We have something," he said as the captain approached.

Two minutes later, Ross was also peering at the grainy image of the Continental and its passengers. He asked, "Do you think that could be the wife in the front seat? Is her hair dark?"

"No, blonde," Bobby answered, "and she claimed she didn't go out at all."

Ross said, "I suppose she never told you her husband took the car out at ten o'clock?"

"No," Eames said, "or that he'd called in a sick day at work today."

Ross didn't reply, but his eyebrows went up in surprise. He looked back and forth between Bobby and Eames.

"I've run this security video to its end, at eight this morning," Bobby said, pointing to one of the TVs, "and the car hadn't returned yet. It wasn't in its spot when the super showed us around. Also, Mr. Russo doesn't appear in the lobby tape on the way out to work this morning."

"Okay." Ross stepped back from the TV. "So now we have a person of interest. What about a motive?" When they explained the apartment waiting list he was incredulous. "You're saying Russo could have attacked Chun over an apartment?"

"An apartment with a great view of Central Park," Eames added.

Ross shook his head slowly. "Whenever I think I've seen everything... Okay, let's bring Mrs. Russo in – maybe she can tell us where her husband is. Anything else?"

They told him about Mrs. Chun's mysterious loan and repayment. "Do you think the Russos have anything to do with that?" Ross asked.

"Maybe indirectly," Bobby said. He hadn't yet been able to find a key that resolved the different aspects of this case.

Eames added, "Linda Russo was aware the Chuns weren't exactly rolling in dough, but we don't know whether she knew about the loan."

Ross checked his watch. "Good work. Get her in here. Bring in Mrs. Chun as well if you need more information from her. I have to report to the Commissioner in half an hour – keep me in the loop."

When they were alone again Eames met his gaze. "You said 'indirectly'. Do you think there's a connection?"

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe, but I'm not seeing it yet," he said. "If Russo is the attacker, what set him off?"

"Money's always a good bet." She tilted her head as she asked, "Do you think Russo might have loaned them the money? Could he be the loan shark?"

He crossed his arms as he considered that possibility. "If Russo wanted the apartment for himself…"

"Right – would he lend them money to help them get the apartment he wanted?"

"And would he do it in cash?"

"Not likely. Okay, so we're back where we were," she said with a sigh. "Lost in the weeds."

* * *

"Hey, Goren?" Eames was still on the phone, but slipped her hand over the mouthpiece to call to him. Bobby looked up from his computer. She continued, "The officers who went to the Russo apartment say nobody's home."

"Did anyone see her?" Bobby waited as she returned to her phone conversation.

After she hung up she answered, "The doorman said she left by cab a little before ten."

Captain Ross was on his way through the squad room with a cup in hand, a tea bag tag fluttering as he walked. As he neared their desks he paused. "Any good news?"

"Sorry," Eames said, "but it looks like Linda Russo may have skipped town, too."

"Captain, we need to get access to the Russos' accounts," Bobby said. "I think they may own property out of the city. Gregory Russo took Mr. Chun there last night."

Ross checked his watch. "Get your evidence together. I'll call the DA's office about a search warrant." He continued on to his office, carefully sipping his hot tea.

Bobby began to return to the computer screen, but an idea popped into mind. He held a fist to his mouth as he considered. "Eames…" He stood abruptly, and strode to the video room.

She was only a few steps behind him. "What?" she asked as he shuffled through the video tapes they'd been viewing.

He pushed a tape in and pressed the fast forward button before he answered. "Mrs. Russo said she was on her way out when we saw her this morning." The tape reached the end and stopped itself. Bobby pressed rewind. "The super pulled this tape while we were with him, so it might show her going out through the lobby."

"But we already know when she left."

"She might have been going to join her husband…" He stopped the tape and pressed play. "Maybe he asked her to bring him something."

"Something?" She sounded interested. "Like a pint of blood? A pack of Band-Aids?"

They watched quietly. They saw themselves entering the building, and various people entering and leaving. Then, just a few minutes before the tape cut off, they saw Mrs. Russo on her way out.

She was pulling a large, wheeled suitcase.


	5. Chapter 5

"This is all very interesting, detectives, but so far there's nothing that definitively links either Gregory or Linda Russo with Mr. Chun's disappearance." Assistant District Attorney Rita Fredericks placed the papers on the table in her office and leaned back in her seat.

"Counselor," Captain Ross said, "a man is injured and has been missing for the better part of a day. My detectives believe Mr. Russo is somehow involved. Time is against us here – and against Mr. Chun."

Bobby leaned an elbow on the table as he slid three pictures, taken from the video tapes, toward ADA Fredericks. One time-stamped picture showed Gregory Russo as he entered the building lobby on Thursday evening; the second was of the Russos' Lincoln Continental leaving the apartment garage later that night; the third showed Linda Russo with her suitcase in the lobby Friday morning. He said, "We have Mr. Russo in the building at the time of the attack, and leaving in his car shortly afterward – with a passenger that wasn't his wife."

Eames said, "Linda Russo hid the fact that her husband left home Thursday night, and that he cut work today. She then took off with a suitcase shortly after our interview with her this morning."

"Counselor," Bobby said, "if the Russos own property nearby – in Long Island, upstate or New Jersey – he may have taken Mr. Chun there last night, to keep him from filing assault charges."

"Or to hide the body," added Ross.

"And the motivation for the attack?" ADA Fredericks said. "Neither of the Russos have any record of violence – nothing worse than a speeding ticket."

"Has," Bobby said quietly. When the ADA looked at him questioningly he repeated, "Has. Neither has any record. It, um, takes the singular." She still looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Whatever," Eames said. Bobby felt her boot bump against his shin under the table as she spoke. "We know there was competition for the upper-floor apartments - the ones with a view of Central Park. The Russos complained to the building management when the Chuns got in ahead of them."

"In writing," Ross said.

"All these facts could be explained as innocent coincidences. Look," ADA Fredericks said, "I'd like to help you, but you know the drill, detectives. So far there's not enough to persuade a judge. I don't see a Why in here." She pushed the photos back toward Bobby, then stood, signaling that their meeting was over. "Give me more and I'll get your search warrant."

They filed out of her office. In the hallway Bobby looked from Eames to Ross: they looked as frustrated as he felt. The captain recovered first. "Okay, so we give her more," he said. "Find out where Linda Russo went this morning."

The elevator slid open and they stepped inside. Ross turned to Bobby with a smirk. "'It takes the singular…' She didn't get it, you know."

"Yeah," Bobby said, nodding.

Eames made a noise – not quite a laugh – in the back of her throat. "Thank you, Mr. Strunk and Mr. White." Both men looked at her in surprise. "What? I got it - I watched Schoolhouse Rock all the time. Ah, Goren and I need to head right over to the Chuns' apartment building."

Ross still had a smile as he said, "Right. Do they have a doorman?" When Eames nodded he added, "He'll know the cab company she used."

* * *

Bobby turned his back to the blasting wind, protecting his partner as much as possible. Though it wasn't very cold, the gusts of wind cut right through their overcoats – something he knew Eames hated. She noticed his move and stepped closer to him without interrupting her phone conversation. They were on the sidewalk outside the front door of the Chuns' apartment building. The doorman had given them the name of the cab company that Mrs. Russo had called that morning; Eames was talking to the dispatcher to track down the cabby who'd picked her up.

"Okay, thanks," Eames said. She closed her cell phone and turned to Bobby. "They contacted the driver, and he should be here within half an hour or so. He's got a fare at the moment." She shivered as a strong burst of wind roared by. "Sheesh!"

Bobby pulled the door open for Eames and followed her inside. She paused just inside, looking up at him – she had a mischievous look, filling him with a sweet kind of anticipation. "What?" he asked.

"Now you know how to get on the captain's good side: just correct someone's grammar."

"Oh." He rubbed his neck. "Yeah. He liked that."

"If you want, I'll make a mistake now and then." They both laughed and continued through the lobby.

He said, "Let's see if the other neighbors are home – the Wellmans."

"Who are we asking them about? The Chuns or the Russos?" she asked.

"Well," he replied "maybe they know if the Russos have a vacation home."

"Ooh, vacation," she said. "That sounds nice."

They found both Mr. and Mrs. Wellman at home, and were welcomed inside the apartment. Bobby estimated that they were about ten years older than the Russos. They certainly seemed more concerned about Mr. Chun's disappearance than Linda Russo had.

"I stopped by their new apartment just a little while ago," Mrs. Wellman said. "I know Young-Hee's been away – who knows what the men did for food all that time. They must be worried sick, so I brought them dinner. Jae always loved my chicken parmesan."

"That's my partner's favorite, too," Eames said, with a tilt of her head toward Bobby, who sat beside her on the sofa.

"It was very nice of you," Bobby said, leaning forward to smile at Mrs. Wellman. She and her husband sat together on the love seat. "Are you friends with the Chuns?"

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Wellman answered. "Mainly because of our children, I suppose."

Eames said, "Linda Russo told us her son Jason and your daughters and Jae Chun were all friends growing up."

"Marie's a year older than the boys," Mrs. Wellman replied, "and Jenny is a year younger."

"Those four were always here in our living room," Mr. Wellman said, "or in one of the other apartments. So we got to know the parents that way. The Chuns – they're good people. They both work hard, and it's all for that boy."

"That's common in Asian families," Bobby said. "The parents deny themselves to provide for the children."

"Yes," Mrs. Wellman said with a smile, "but I don't think they spoil him. Jae is very devoted to them."

"And are you close to the Russos, too?" Eames asked.

The warmth of Mrs. Wellman's expression cooled a bit. She started to speak, but hesitated. She sat back and reached for her husband's hand. Bobby thought he understood: she didn't have anything good to say, so she'd rather say nothing. But Mr. Wellman didn't feel the same constraint. He said, "Not so much since the kids started college, and even less since Jason dropped out of school and left for Texas. They've both been too busy for us and the other neighbors."

"Does it have anything to do with the waiting list for upper floor apartments?" Bobby asked after a quick glance at his partner.

"Oh, that!" Mr. Wellman shook his head. "I wish they'd build a high-rise and block everyone's view!" His wife, still holding his hand, must have squeezed hard, because he turned to look at her. "Well, I do!"

"But…" Bobby looked back and forth between their faces. They both looked annoyed – maybe for different reasons. He scratched his neck. "But we heard you were on that list."

"Not any more," Mrs. Wellman said. "It just got to be too competitive. You know – too many hard feelings."

Bobby kept his voice gentle. "Do you mean the Russos? Do they have hard feelings about the Chuns moving upstairs?"

Mrs. Wellman was still uneasy. Her husband still looked irritated as he said, "I wish Greg would realize it's not worth all that agita. If I want to see Central Park I'll take a walk."

Bobby met Eames' eye – this was interesting. She gave him the slightest nod to indicate she was in tune.

"You know," Mrs. Wellman said, "at first I thought, that is, when I answered the door – before you showed us your police badge – I thought maybe you were the new neighbors next door." She chuckled. "You seem so comfortable together."

Bobby held his breath. It was true, but how was he supposed to respond to that? Mrs. Wellman was looking right at him with a kindly smile. "Ahh," he said on a long exhale, "yes, we've been partners for a long time."

"I'm sure you're very good at your job," Mrs. Wellman said.

Mr. Wellman patted his wife's arm. "Jan, why don't we let them ask their questions."

"Forgive me," she exclaimed. "Here I am, chattering on while you need to find poor Mr. Chun. What can we do to help?"

Eames pulled her notebook out of her coat pocket. "We did want to talk to the Russos, but they're not home, and it looks like they may be out of town."

Bobby asked, "Do you know if they have another house, or a nearby relative they might have gone to? We know Mr. Russo took the car out last night around the time of the disappearance. He might have seen something that would help our case."

"That's odd for them to be away during the week," Mrs. Wellman said, turning to look at her husband.

"Long weekend?" he said with a shrug.

"If it was summer, I'd say they went to their beach house," Mrs. Wellman said, "but at this time of year…"

Eames briefly met Bobby's eye before leaning forward eagerly. "They have a summer house?" she asked. "Where?"

Mr. Wellman said, "It's one of those little Jersey shore towns. They invited us and the Chuns there maybe ten years ago." He scratched his chin. "What was that town? Jan, honey, do you remember?"

His wife thought for a moment. "It's an unusual name – it sounded kind of French to me."

Bobby's mind raced through the beach towns he could recall. None was remotely French-sounding.

Eames suggested, "Lavallette?"

"That's the one!" Mr. Wellman said, slapping his knee. "You'd think I could remember a name like that."

His wife spoke up. "But they never go there in the cool weather, dear. It's just a little cottage, a block from the beach. I'm sure there's not even central heat."

Bobby could feel the energy flowing off his partner. She wanted to be up and chasing their new lead. But this sweet couple was a wealth of information. He asked, "Do you happen to have a cell phone number for either of them?"

Both Wellmans were quiet for a few moments. Mrs. Wellman was shaking her head slowly. Her husband touched her arm again. "Maybe you have the number on your cell phone."

She stood up, still looking doubtful. "I don't know, Bill. I'm sure I never called Linda, but I guess it's worth a look." As she left the room she called back, "The girls set up all the numbers in there for me – I hardly know how to find anything on it."

Mr. Wellman said, "It's one of those family plans, you know. The girls each have their own phone – supposedly so they can call home – and we get the bill!"

"Are they both away at college?" Bobby asked.

Mrs. Wellman was already returning with her purse in her hand. "Yes," she replied. "Marie goes to Stony Brook, and Jenny just started at SUNY Albany." She rummaged in her bag, pulled out the phone, and handed it over to Eames. "If Linda's number is in there I'm sure you can find it."

Bobby watched over his partner's shoulder as she stepped through the menus. His arm rested lightly against her back; she didn't move away from the contact. He saw the name on the tiny screen just as she said, "How about this one: Linda R?" She was already copying the number as Mrs. Wellman confirmed it was Linda Russo's.

This was good: they now had a town in New Jersey and a cell phone to trace. Bobby would have been happy to stay longer – he enjoyed their company, and who knows what other valuable information they might provide – but Eames reminded him they needed to meet the cab driver out front.

"I like them," he said as they stood in the elevator car on the way down.

"Yeah, they'd be nice neighbors. I bet her chicken parm is great," she said with a sly grin. "She made you blush, you know."

Bobby was sure he hadn't blushed, but he wasn't about to spoil Eames' teasing. He just shrugged. "So… after we talk to this cabby we'd better call the captain. He can get started on permission to track this cell phone."

"I'm betting it leads us to the Jersey shore."

The doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby.


	6. Chapter 6

"Here you go." The car rental agent behind the counter hovered near his printer, waiting as the final sheet came through. He snatched it up and handed them all to Eames. Bobby leaned close to read over her shoulder.

The cabby had finally showed up at the apartment building, and told them he'd driven Linda Russo to an Avis car rental place on East 90th Street. At Avis, the agent who had served her was still at the desk. When they showed their shields he'd gladly offered to print out her rental agreement.

"She was kind of nervous," the agent said, "like, she couldn't find her driver's license at first, and then in the middle of signing the forms she started to call someone, but hung up real quick. She said she never rented a car before – that was obvious."

Eames looked up from studying the printout in her hand. "Does the car she rented have GPS? It doesn't say here..."

The young man checked his screen. "Umm, no – no GPS. That information would show up in the section marked 'Optional Features'."

Bobby asked, "How long is the rental?"

"Looks like one day," Eames replied.

"That's right," the agent said. "And she chose the option to pay to have us refill the tank upon return."

Eames turned to Bobby and quietly said, "Let me call this in to Ross – it'll give him more for that warrant." She went to the front window and flipped open her phone.

While she spoke to the captain, Bobby noticed a bulletin board across the room, and strolled over to take a look. It was covered with business cards and advertisements, but one bright yellow flyer caught his attention immediately. He pulled it off the board. "Eames." He looked around; she was still on the phone, with one finger plugged into her ear to block out noise. Bobby waited for her to finish – she was going to be very interested in this.

However, as soon as she closed her phone she headed for the exit, calling over her shoulder, "We have to get back to the apartment." She yanked on the door and waited there for Bobby to join her. "Ross said Jae Chun called," she said. "He found out about his mother's mystery loan, and persuaded her to talk to us about it."

Bobby tucked the flyer into his binder, waved a thank-you to the agent, and followed Eames out onto the sidewalk. It would have to wait.

* * *

The first time they'd met Mrs. Chun she'd been agitated and evasive; now she looked desperately worried. She wasn't even complaining about the technician in the living room, who was finally packing up his phone recording equipment. Her luggage had been moved to the side of the living room, but clearly it hadn't been touched otherwise.

They all sat around the dining room table as she explained how she'd contacted a Korean businessman for her loan. Bobby exchanged a quick glance with Eames at that revelation – no need to consider Russo in that aspect, at least. The lender owned several Korean grocery stores, which were legitimate businesses, but he also sold black market fashion knock-offs, and made private loans on the side as well. The loan itself was not illegal, as long as both parties agreed to the terms, but the possibility of mob involvement was a danger, in light of his black market connections. Mrs. Chun had borrowed a similar amount from him when she first started her business, and had been able to pay it back promptly.

This time, however, she'd been half a day past the deadline, and had been frightened that he'd taken her husband as punishment.

"And that's why you didn't tell us about the loan this morning?" Bobby asked. Mrs. Chun nodded.

"Have you been in contact with this man since you returned?" Eames asked.

"Yes, he came here this afternoon," she replied. "He was not angry; he will like to do business with me again in future."

"Why did he come?" Eames asked.

"He heard news about my husband, and hopes he will be safe."

Eames continued, "Who knew about this loan?"

"Only my husband. Next month, when holidays come, I have plenty of sales," she said. "We needed money for short time only."

"Did you tell your parents when you visited them?" Bobby asked. It was interesting that Mrs. Chun's English became better when she was at ease, and worse when she was disconcerted.

Mrs. Chun couldn't meet their eyes, or her son's. "Yes, they know. They tell no one else."

There was no need to embarrass her further by pressing her to reveal the parents' involvement with her loan. She could explain it to her son in private. Bobby asked, "What about Jae?"

Jae shook his head. "I just found out about it this afternoon – when that man came to the door. I knew we had to let you know."

"You did the right thing," Eames said. "It's important for us to have as much information as possible in cases like this. Mrs. Chun, do you think anyone else may have found out?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"Is it possible someone may have learned about it from your husband?" Bobby asked. "One of the neighbors?" Neither mother nor son answered, so he continued, "Does he generally like to talk to the neighbors?"

"Yes," Jae answered. "He likes that about America, that he can be friends with so many different people. And he always wants to improve his English."

"Is he friends with Gregory Russo?" Eames asked.

"He used to be," Jae said, rolling his eyes, "until we moved up here. Mr. Russo was mad that he didn't get the apartment."

Once again Bobby felt Eames' eagerness to take action on this information, though she quickly controlled her impatience. He slid his foot until it touched hers under the table, and Eames took the hint. She sat back in her chair, waiting for him. "Mrs. Chun," Bobby said, clasping his hands together on the table, "did you ever talk to Gregory Russo about your business?"

"Yes," she said, "when I first started import business two years ago, we talked about small business loans and bookkeeping and insurance – things like that."

"So he had some idea of the financial ups and downs of your business," he said. If Russo had found out about her loan, he might have threatened to reveal it as embarrassing proof that her business was failing.

Eames continued, "And did that all stop when you moved into this apartment?"

"Yes," Mrs. Chun said, "both of them are not so friendly since we move. They think they should get the apartment, and that my husband is…" She paused, and turned to look at her son. In Korean she asked him for the English word for bribery.

Jae's eyes opened wide in shock. He replied in Korean, asking her to explain. Bobby kept his expression neutral as she did. Jae looked embarrassed as he translated for his mother. "Mr. Russo accused my father of bribing the building manager to get ahead of them on the list. He would never do anything like that!"

"Jae, do you think Mr. Russo has a bad temper?" Bobby asked.

Jae thought for several moments before answering. "Well, never at me, but when Jason dropped out of college to go to Texas, there were some really loud arguments – we heard him right through the walls."

"You didn't know about his resentment against your father?"

"No. I mean, ever since we moved in, they haven't talked to me, and I knew Mr. Russo complained to the manager about it. But they kind of cooled down lately, so I thought they were over it."

"How did you get ahead of them on the list?" Eames asked.

Jae shrugged. "I have no idea. I think my father put us on the list when I was about ten. We didn't know the people who moved out of here; we just got a letter from the building manager saying we had first choice if we wanted the apartment. I think maybe Mr. Russo ticked him off – he was always trying to get himself moved up the list."

"So you think the manager may have moved them down the list out of spite?" Eames asked. Jae nodded. "And what about these confrontations with your dad? Did either of you witness them?" Jae shook his head.

"I did," Mrs. Chun said. "Gregory says we paid money to change list. We were both so surprised, so… shocked, we could not answer. Later my husband was very angry."

"So, your husband was…" Bobby said, "was upset to have someone question his honesty?"

She nodded. "It is a disgrace to say this thing to us, to accuse that we cheat."

Bobby looked from mother to son. "Why didn't you mention this to us this morning? Was it because you were thinking it was the man who loaned you the money?"

She nodded.

Jae added, "Also, that all happened two months ago, when we moved up here, right, Mom? Like I said, I thought he got over it. You think Mr. Russo did this to my father?" He pointed to the blood which stained the carpet.

"It's a possibility," Eames said. "As far as we can tell, he went out yesterday in his car around the time your father disappeared, and now both he and his wife are missing."

Jae and his mother looked at each other in surprise. Bobby said, "You can help us. We spoke to your neighbors from the third floor, the Wellmans."

Mrs. Chun said, "They are very good people, very honorable." She twisted in her chair and pointed into the kitchen. "Janet brought dinner to us today. She cried when she was here. They are very loving family."

"We thought so, too," Bobby said. "Jae, they told us you went to the Russos' beach house in New Jersey about ten years ago. Do you remember?"

"Sure. It's a little place, close to the beach. We only had to cross one street to get to the water."

"Did you go, Mrs. Chun?" Eames asked.

"Yes," she replied, "my husband drove our car, but I don't like the sand or too much sun. I stayed in the house with Linda and Janet. Men and children went to the ocean all day."

"And do you remember what town it's in?" Eames continued.

"Lavallette, on the sand bar," Jae said. "Jason quit going with them in high school, but his parents go for a week or two every summer."

Bobby asked, "Do you remember the street it's on?" Neither one knew.

"Why are you asking this?" Jae said. "Is that where he took my dad?"

"We don't know for sure," Eames replied.

"You're going there, aren't you? I want to go with you," Jae said. He stood up.

Bobby stood also, and laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. "You need to stay here with your mother. She needs you."

"I promise to call you with whatever we find out," Eames added.


	7. Chapter 7

Daylight was completely gone by the time they returned to One Police Plaza. Bobby estimated it was twenty hours since Mr. Chun had disappeared. If he was badly injured, his chances of survival were getting worse with every hour. Ross was on edge: he still hadn't received the go-ahead to trace Linda Russo's cell phone or open their records, despite frequent phone conversations with ADA Fredericks.

As soon as they reached MCS, Bobby looked up a number and made a call to the New Jersey State Police, asking for Captain Blondell, who had helped him and Eames with a case early in their partnership. Since that time they'd had a couple of opportunities to return the favor, and Bobby was sure he'd help them locate the Russos' address in Lavallette. Blondell wasn't in, so while he waited for the call back Bobby re-examined the information they'd learned throughout the day.

He thought he understood Gregory Russo's anger over missing out on the prime apartment, but there was a two month gap until the attack on Mr. Chun. Jae thought the Russos had cooled down after their initial outrage. If that was really the case, what had triggered Gregory's fury on Thursday night? Bobby began reading through the Chuns' statements and the notes he'd taken during the day, hoping for some fact to jump out at him.

When Eames' desk phone rang for the third time Bobby finally looked up from his binder. He stood, reached across their desks and picked it up. Where was she? He scanned the squad room as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

"Goren."

"Yeah, this is Miller from Forensics Lab. I have your preliminary results on the blood from the Chun crime scene."

Bobby grabbed his binder and stepped around the desks to sit in Eames' chair. "Go ahead."

"The blood's definitely from two different people," Miller said. "One is type O-positive – that's the one who lost the most blood. The info we got from the family is that Soon-Ki Chun is O-positive. The other blood is B-positive. It only showed up on the knife and a couple spots in the bathroom."

"Okay, thanks," Bobby said, writing as fast as he could. Eames and Ross appeared from the direction of the coffee room. She was holding two cups. Their eyes met across the squad room, and she immediately sped up on her way back. Bobby asked Miller, "What about the smudge of blood in the elevator?"

"That was…" He heard paper rustling. "That was your Mr. O-positive."

"Got it." Bobby nodded his thanks as Eames set down a cup of coffee for him. He hung up the phone and relayed the information to her and Ross.

Eames was standing beside him. She turned her laptop to face her and leaned down to work on it. "Let's see if we can find out Mr. Russo's blood type…." Bobby slid out of her chair and held it for her as she sat. Both he and the captain watched over her shoulder as she pulled up the web site for Motor Vehicles. She found Gregory Russo's driver's license information.

"There," she said, pointing to the screen. "His license is marked as an organ donor."

"Ah," Ross said, "so he should show up in the New York State organ donor database…."

Eames continued the sentence as she quickly clicked through screens. "…and it may list his blood type there."

While she was still working on access, Ross was called away by a uniformed officer, and Bobby's own phone rang. He jumped for it, hoping it was Captain Blondell, but it was a clerk from the District Attorney's office, notifying him of a court date for a case where he and Eames would be called on to testify.

As Bobby hung up the phone, Eames walked over to the printer in the corner. She came back waving a sheet of paper. "Care to guess Gregory Russo's blood type?"

Ross had seen her go for the printout, and he answered as he joined the detectives again. "Type B-positive?"

"That's one of the rarer blood types," Bobby said.

"Rare enough for the judge to speed up that search warrant?" Eames asked.

"It should be, unless he's holding out for a signed confession," Ross said, reaching for the paper from her. "Do you have that beach address in New Jersey?"

Bobby said, "We're waiting on a call back from the state troopers."

"You have a contact there?"

"Captain Richard Blondell," Bobby replied. "Eames and I first met him maybe… six years ago." He looked at his partner for confirmation.

"At least that long," she said. "We've been able to help each other out a few times since then."

"Good. Were the Jersey hospitals in that area already put on alert for Mr. Chun?"

"Yes, sir," Eames said. "We—"

"Goren, Eames!" There was a shout across the squad room. "You have a call on line three – cop from Jersey."

"That'll be Blondell," she said, heading toward the interview room. Bobby let Ross go next, and he closed the door behind him as he went in.

Eames set the phone in the middle of the table, pressed the speaker button, and made the introductions. "Thanks for taking our call, Captain," she said.

"I heard a while back that Jimmy Deakins retired," came Blondell's voice from the speaker. "How's he doing in the private sector?"

"He says he likes the hours better," Eames replied.

Blondell chuckled. "Who wouldn't? Please give him my regards when you talk to him."

"Will do, sir," she said.

"So! What can I do to help you?"

Bobby leaned closer to the phone. "Captain, we're working on the disappearance of the UN worker."

"Ah, you caught that case! I watched the press conference this afternoon."

"…and there's a person of interest we're trying to locate," Bobby continued. "He lives in Manhattan and also owns a vacation home in Lavallette. We think he's there now."

"…with your missing UN translator?" Blondell asked.

"That's what we're trying to determine," Ross said. "Captain, the NYPD would appreciate it if you can provide us with a street address in Lavallette for a Gregory and Linda Russo, and if you would accompany Detectives Eames and Goren on a visit there as soon as possible."

"Visit?"

"Well," Ross said with a glance at his detectives, "we should have a warrant issued within the hour, but at the moment…. You know how that goes."

"Right, I understand."

They explained the developments in their case, and Blondell promised to find and fax them the Russos' information. They arranged a meeting place at the Lavallette police station, where he'd have NJ Troopers meet them to provide an escort. He also offered to recheck the hospitals in the area for anyone matching Mr. Chun's description. Eames gave him their cell numbers, and they ended the call with thanks.

"It's going to take you an hour or more to get there," Ross said, looking at his watch. "Go ahead and start now. I'll text you the address when I get Blondell's fax, and I'll send him a copy of the search warrant when it comes through."

As the captain stood, his hand brushed against Eames' nearly empty cup and tipped it onto its side. A thin trickle of tea ran over the paper she'd been using to take notes. Ross apologized, but she shrugged it off as she calmly reached for a tissue to blot up the tea.

Bobby watched as the surface of the sheet of paper became ridged and warped. It reminded him of something they'd seen in the Russos' apartment. The answer finally clicked into place – that was it!

"Eames," he said, quickly reaching for the damp page. She must have sensed the urgency in his voice, because she looked up sharply. "Water damage," he said. "It's – that's what set off Russo's temper. That was the final straw."

"Water damage?" the captain said.

"That and money." Eames nodded slowly at Bobby. She turned toward Ross and said, "Linda's heirloom dining room table was recently ruined by a water leak from above," she said.

"Gregory came home last night," Bobby said, "took a look at the estimate to restore the table –"

"…probably an arm and a leg," Eames added.

"…and his temper exploded," Bobby said. "To him, it's the Chuns' fault."

"If he'd moved upstairs instead of them," she said, "the damage would never have happened."

Bobby continued. "He went upstairs to confront Mr. Chun."

"…and it escalated from there," Ross said. "Okay, get going. Be careful."


	8. Chapter 8

They'd passed through the Holland Tunnel and were heading south on the Jersey Turnpike when Bobby hesitantly pulled the bright yellow flyer out of his binder. It was possible Eames might rebuff him for bringing up their missed date. If they hadn't been assigned this UN case they probably would have been entering the club right about this time. She might not welcome the reminder. However, a thought had begun nagging at the back of his mind that if they had to put off their date again she might give up on the whole plan. He did not want to give it up.

"So…" he said, "I have an idea."

"About what?"

"Well, since we can't go out tonight…" She became very quiet, hardly moving. Bobby stared at the printed sheet as though he was reading it for the first time. "I thought you might like to go to, um, a car show."

He risked a glance at her. She didn't move yet, but she seemed interested, so he went on. "It's Sunday afternoon, in Farmingdale, at the college. It's run by the town fire company."

She reached over to snatch the flyer. However, it was too dark to read, and she could only give it quick glances while she was driving. She handed it back after a few seconds. "Where'd you get this?"

"At the Avis place," he said, "on the bulletin board. I thought you'd like it."

"Does it say what kind of cars?"

Bobby smiled and breathed a little easier. She was in. "It says, 'Annual Fall Rod and Custom Show'. The sketch here looks like a Buick from the forties, so probably all kinds."

"An outdoor car show in October? Hmm. Kinda late in the season."

He knew not to push her while she was thinking. They drove a mile or so in silence before she said, "I'm supposed to go to church with my parents Sunday morning. You'd have to pick me up at their house in Franklin Square."

"Sure – that's on the way," he replied.

He was confident Eames didn't need further persuasion. As long as the weather was anything short of hurricane or blizzard conditions, she'd want to go. She kept asking him questions until he finally clicked on the dome light and read the entire flyer to her.

They were quiet again for a while, and then Eames reached over to tap her fist on his leg. "That was a good idea, Bobby." She gave him one of her rare bright smiles before turning to concentrate on the road again.

* * *

"These are Gregory and Linda Russo and Soon-Ki Chun," Bobby said as he handed photos around to the two state troopers, one local police officer and three EMTs. "Mr. Chun has knife wounds, and is probably badly injured." They were crowded into the small Lavallette police squad room, which was no more than a conference room within the municipal building. The rest of the police station consisted of one office which housed the dispatcher.

Captain Ross had called while they were on the road. The search warrant had finally been issued, and it covered all properties and vehicles owned or rented by the Russos. The troopers were going to execute the warrant with them on the Lavallette house.

Ross had also tracked the signal on Linda Russo's cell phone: it led directly to Lavallette before it was turned off early in the afternoon.

"The Russos have no registered guns or firearms," Eames said, "but it's best to approach with caution."

They suited up in their Kevlar vests, and within minutes were in their vehicles, moving toward the Russos' residence on Washington Avenue. There were very few streetlights. The rows of small cottages had been shuttered and locked up for the winter. Only the largest, winterized homes looked inhabited – otherwise this was a ghost town.

The young local officer, who led the way in his patrol car, stopped them on a dark street one block from the house. He probably hadn't dealt with anything more serious than drunk and disorderly party-goers, and he looked too eager. He drew his gun as soon as he stepped out of his patrol car. Bobby was instantly uneasy – the last thing they needed was to have him rush the house, cause a panic and get someone else hurt.

Eames had noticed, too. As they walked along the sidewalk, she touched his arm and nodded toward the young cop. Bobby sped up to get to the front of the group, then turned and held up his hands to stop them. "Hey, hold up a sec," he said, and then nodded to his partner.

All the cops were tall men; some were close to Bobby's height. As they gathered around, Bobby realized that they all towered over Eames – but she wasn't intimidated in the least. He admired her as she calmly stepped to his side and spoke quietly, which forced the big men to lean in closer. "We're going to need surprise and speed to keep Mr. Chun from being hurt any worse than he is already," she said. "Let's try and get a look inside before we let them know we're here. If we know what rooms they're in we can move faster once we're inside."

One of the troopers spoke up to agree – he'd probably been concerned about the local cop's eagerness, too. He directed them each to a different window, and instructed the EMTs to stay in the street until the house was clear.

The Russos' cottage had no outdoor lights on, but it showed light leaking out around the shutters and drawn blinds. It was the only house in sight that showed any sign of life. The Lincoln Continental and a Taurus, both with New York plates, were parked in the driveway at the side of the house.

Bobby crept to one of the covered windows and peeked inside; the light was on, but he saw no one. Eames checked another window – she quickly backed off and signaled to the others. They waited for the men to rejoin them from the other side of the house.

"They've done us a favor," she whispered. "The TV's on, and the Russos are arguing. No weapons in sight. No sign of Mr. Chun."

"I saw him," said one of the troopers. "He's on a mattress on the kitchen floor – looks like they pulled it in there to keep an eye on him. His left arm is heavily bandaged."

"Is he conscious?" Bobby asked.

"Couldn't tell," he replied. "Anybody else in the house? No? Okay, we're going in. Wait for my signal."

He sent the other trooper and the local cop to the side door, while Bobby and Eames followed him to the front, guns drawn. He quietly checked the door knob – it must have been locked, because he pounded loudly, shouted, "POLICE!" and kicked at the door. It flew in at his second kick, and they charged in.

Linda Russo was sitting in front of the TV, and Gregory was standing beside it – both were too stunned to react beyond gaping at the entering police officers.

"Stay where you are!" the trooper yelled. "Hands on your head!"

The local cop went further inside to check the other rooms. Eames stepped forward to assist in handcuffing the Russos. Bobby knelt beside Mr. Chun, and addressed him in Korean. He got no response. The poor man was weak – he'd barely blinked at all the noise, and seemed on the edge of unconsciousness – but he was alive. Bobby stood and turned to the front door to call the EMTs, but they were already rushing past him.

He removed his Kevlar vest as he watched the EMTs work. They speedily examined Mr. Chun and then peeled away the masking tape and bloody towels to reveal a long, deep gash that ran across his upper left arm and chest. It was probably the result of a wild swing of the knife. Blood was seeping out along the whole length.

As they were inserting an IV there was a curse from the living room, followed by a crash of furniture. Bobby spun around. One of the troopers was diving at Gregory Russo to tackle him; the other trooper and Eames had fallen backward, knocking over an end table that held a lamp. Before Bobby could get there, both Eames and the trooper recovered, leaping forward again to subdue Russo, who was strenuously resisting.

Russo was soon handcuffed and roughly forced to sit on the floor. His wife, who'd begun crying, was also handcuffed and seated across the room in a straight-backed chair.

Bobby watched his partner intently as she rubbed the back of her right arm from shoulder to elbow. She'd probably hit the table on her way down. She met his eye for a moment and shook her head with a wry grin. She was okay, and a little embarrassed. Bobby could find out later what had happened. He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded and turned back to the kitchen.

As the IV fluids emptied into Mr. Chun's vein he gradually became aware enough to respond groggily to the EMTs as they cleaned the wound, applied an antibiotic, and rewrapped it in pressure bandages. Once they were satisfied Mr. Chun was stabilizing, Bobby looked around for Eames. He found her in the back bedroom. She'd donned latex gloves and was sorting through the contents of a suitcase – the one they'd seen Linda Russo pulling through the lobby.

"I was almost right about the Band-aids," Eames said, holding up a package of ace bandages, then a tube of first aid cream and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. There were more towels as well. "It should be interesting to hear what they planned to do when gangrene set in. The troopers called for a CSU team, but there's not much here." She nodded toward the other room. "How's he doing?"

"They're getting ready to move him. Uh, Eames, how badly were you hurt?"

"Just a bruise – don't worry, nothing's broken. Russo threw his weight at the one guy, and we went down like dominoes."

"Your arm's okay?"

"You can look at my black-and-blue tomorrow. Come on, let's go."

Back in the kitchen, the EMTs had finished strapping Mr. Chun down, and were raising the gurney to roll him outside. When they reached the ambulance, which had been backed onto the small front lawn, Bobby spoke to the driver.

"What hospital are you taking him to?"

"Monmouth Medical Center," he replied. "It's the best in the area – they have a trauma center."

"Okay, thanks," Bobby said, and shook hands. "Tell him we'll call his family."

As the ambulance maneuvered over the curb and onto the street, the NJ State Police car and the black and white Lavallette Police car came into sight. They parked side by side on the lawn. In another minute the Russos were brought out of the house. Mr. Russo was put in the back of the trooper's car, where he sat staring impassively forward; his wife was led to the Lavallette cruiser.

Bobby and Eames approached Mr. Russo. Bobby opened the back door of the car and crouched down, balancing himself with a hand on the car frame. Eames slid in to stand between him and the open door. Russo kept staring straight ahead.

"Is there anything you want to tell us?" Bobby asked.

Russo's eyes flicked dully over to him for a moment. "They read me my rights. I don't have to talk to you."

"Fine. We'll talk to you, then," Eames said. "You know, you're looking at charges for assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder and kidnapping – and that's just for starters."

Russo frowned, but didn't speak.

"Your wife will be charged, too," Bobby added.

Now he reacted angrily, struggling against the handcuffs that held his hands behind him. "She didn't do anything!"

"You know, you're right," Eames said. "She didn't tell us what happened, she didn't tell us where you were, she didn't help Mr. Chun, she didn't call for an ambulance…. She didn't do anything. That makes her an accessory."

"No! I'm telling you she didn't know." Russo's bravado melted when he realized he'd dragged his wife into a felony.

"So maybe you do want to talk to us," Bobby said, rising. "You should do what you can to protect your wife, because right now it doesn't look good for her." He took one step back, giving Russo space and time to consider.

It didn't take him long to decide to talk. "Look, I never meant for any of this to happen. When I went to Chun's apartment last night I only wanted to… to…"

"Threaten him?" Eames said.

"No!" His anger had subsided into whining, but he kept squirming against the handcuffs – he probably gestured with his hands when he talked. "I wanted him to know that I knew what they did."

"You mean… how they got the upstairs apartment?" Bobby asked. This should be interesting – how was Russo going to justify an attack that might have killed a man?

"Yes! I know for a fact – for a fact! – we were supposed to get it. His wife took out this huge, under-the-table loan from a so-called business associate so they could pay off the manager to get into the apartment instead of us, but they can't afford it! Her business is barely scraping by; his salary from the UN isn't enough."

"And how do you know all this?" Eames asked.

"Oh, they talk. We used to be friendly. I almost invested in her business last year, you know. But now Chun keeps shoving it in my face that he got the apartment, when all the time I knew how they got there – they bought it!"

Eames' investigation had accounted for the full amount of the loan in legitimate expenses. The security deposit was a far cry from bribe money. But even if Russo's accusation had had some basis in fact, it didn't excuse the attack. "Tell us what happened last night," Bobby said.

Russo swallowed hard. He finally seemed shaken with the enormity of the trouble he was in. "Okay," he said, "but you have to believe me: Linda didn't know what was happening." He looked up at them; both detectives continued to stare at him, waiting for more. "Like I said, I only went there to talk."

"To talk?" Eames said.

"Okay, to complain," Russo said, still trying to move his arms as he spoke. "Or yell, but only that. He was the one who started swinging a knife around!"

Eames fidgeted beside Bobby. He was sure she was rolling her eyes at Russo's attempt to shift blame onto the victim. They were obviously going to hear a very slanted account of events.

"Where did the knife come from?" Bobby asked.

"I think he was making dinner or something in the kitchen. I told him I knew about his wife's shady loan, and that they couldn't afford the apartment. We got pretty heated, and he started shaking that knife at me and yelling in Korean. I thought he was going to stab me."

"That's funny," Eames said with a smirk, "because you don't look injured. I suppose he stabbed himself?"

At least Russo had conscience enough to look embarrassed. "He, uh, I tried to get it away from him. We were… sort of wrestling over it. I didn't mean to hurt him, but he kept coming at me."

Bobby glanced at his partner. From what he'd seen of the wound, it was more likely that Chun had tried to get away from the swing of the knife once it was in Russo's hand. The doctor's examination would deal with that aspect.

"So… you struggled with him. We saw that you tried to give him first aid at the apartment," Bobby said. "Why didn't you take him to a hospital?"

"I was going to," Russo said, "but he was acting like he was okay. And then in the car he started threatening to have me arrested, and I guess I just panicked."

"Panicked?" Eames asked. "Or did you get angry?"

Bobby met her glance – she'd made a good guess. Russo's temper seemed mercurial. He decided to put that temper to the test. "One more question," he said. "Why did you decide to go to the Chuns' last night? Was it because of the water damage from the broken water pipe?"

Russo's expression darkened, and Bobby knew he'd hit a raw nerve. He pushed a little further. "Your wife told us the dining room table was passed down from her grandmother, and that you had to bring in an antique restoration company."

"The invoice came back yesterday," Russo said with his teeth gritted. "Thirty-nine hundred dollars to repair the damage to the table top. I found out the stupid upstairs neighbor tried to do his own plumbing. That idiot couldn't fix his own shoe laces, let alone plumbing, so of course it leaked – right onto my table! Almost four thousand dollars – not to mention the replacing the ceiling and cleaning the carpet."

"Yeah, but insurance will cover those costs," Bobby said lightly, looking down at his partner. Russo was ready to explode, and if they were nonchalant about his irritation it might set him off.

Eames nodded in agreement. "None of that has to come out of your own pocket. No harm done."

It worked. "We were supposed to get that apartment!" Russo shouted, kicking at the seat ahead of him in futile rage. "I had it all planned! If Chun hadn't bribed the manager we would've been up there, and the damn pipes could leak from now to Christmas for all I care! He deserved what he got!"

The two troopers had joined them as Russo's volume increased. When he started damaging their vehicle they stepped in, threatening to restrain him. Eames gestured toward the other car, where a miserable Linda Russo was hunched over.

"Let's see if she wants to talk," she said.

Linda Russo, in between fits of sobbing, told them everything she knew. Her husband had been furious last night when he saw the estimate to restore their table, and he hadn't told her where he was going. She didn't hear from him until after midnight, when he was already in Lavallette with Mr. Chun. Gregory called again in the morning – shortly before the detectives came – to ask her to join him there.

"But when you got here you saw Mr. Chun was hurt badly," Bobby said, leaning down to catch Mrs. Russo's eye. "You were here all day, and you didn't call for an ambulance, you didn't get him to a hospital."

She began crying again. "I couldn't persuade him! He kept saying it would be all right, and I couldn't budge him an inch. He even turned off my cell phone."

"Is that what you were arguing about when we came in?" Eames asked.

"Yes. I tried all day. I'm sorry – I'm so sorry!"

They turned away from the car, and Eames muttered, "Tell that to his wife and son."

* * *

.


	9. Chapter 9

Bobby was pacing up and down the sidewalk outside the Toms River police station as he spoke to Captain Ross on his cell phone. The night air was chilly and damp, but the cell signal inside the building was too weak to connect.

"They'll keep the Russos here at the county jail," Bobby told him, "until we work out their transfer."

"I'll contact Ms. Fredericks right away," Ross said. "How did Chun look?"

"Weak – he lost a lot of blood. But the EMTs thought he'd be all right as long as they can prevent infection. We already called his wife and Jae. They're on the way to the hospital now." Bobby heard the door open, and turned to see Eames coming out.

Ross said, "See if you can get a statement from him tonight. Did the Russos talk?"

"Yeah, both of them. It, uh…" Bobby looked at Eames. She frowned and pointed to her wrist; she wanted to get going. He nodded as he continued. "He was angry about the table, and then he argued with Mr. Chun about who was supposed to get that apartment. It's possible they both lost their tempers. Russo might try to claim self defense for the stabbing, but the kidnapping…."

"All this for an apartment… When does it ever make sense?" Ross sighed loudly. "Okay, good work, detective."

Bobby closed his phone. "We need directions to the Monmouth hospital."

"Got 'em," Eames said. "But first I need food and caffeine. Trooper Bob told me there's a 24-hour diner in town that serves great coffee. All things considered, that'll almost make up for missing the dance club."

Bobby wanted to thank her; to apologize to her; to hug her. Instead he asked, "How does your arm feel?"

She looked annoyed as she met his eyes, but not very annoyed. "It's a little sore." She rubbed the back of her arm, flexing her shoulder. "I'll live – I promise. I can even drive, once I get coffee. Oh, and I want to see that poster from the car show."

"Do we still have ibuprofen in the glove compartment?"

She pointed her finger at his face. "I know you – you just want to see my bruise. Come on," she said, turning toward the building's front door. "Let's thank the boys and be on our way."

* * *

The parking lot wasn't completely full, but the car show was clearly popular on this sunny Sunday afternoon. Bobby found a spot to park, and they strolled toward the tables set up at the entrance to the field. He was surprised that Eames let him pay for them both. However, as soon as they reached the first row of cars she reached into her purse and unobtrusively handed him the money. He laughed as he shoved the bills into his pocket.

"What?" she said, glancing up with an amused expression.

He held her gaze for a few moments. "Dutch."

"Hey, I told you." Her smile didn't falter. "Come on, this looks like fun."

When Bobby had arrived at her parents' home he'd been concerned at first – he didn't see her car in the street or driveway. She'd been waiting on the porch, though, and had explained that she'd hitched a ride that morning with her brother and his family. She'd joked that Bobby wouldn't have to worry about facing her dad if they got back late. He'd smiled – but didn't acknowledge just how accurate she was.

They wandered down the first row, admiring beautifully detailed cars and trucks ranging from historic to classic to recent models. Eames stopped to chat with most of the owners about the work they'd put into their vehicles. Bobby made a point of collecting business cards from those who did restoration and detailing – maybe one of these contacts would come in handy if he decided to sell his car some day.

Near the end of the first row they were both enthralled by a dark green 1956 Chevy pickup truck; it had a high gloss on all painted and chrome surfaces, and impossibly smooth varnished boards in the truck bed. The owner had even placed a mirror on the ground under the engine to let people see it shine from all angles. When they complimented the owner, he told them it had been his grandfather's truck, and had sat in a garage for nearly forty years before he had the time and money to restore it.

They'd both dressed warmly, but whenever a cloud covered the sun Bobby noticed Eames pull her coat collar closely around her neck.

"Do you want coffee?" he asked, pointing to the refreshment booth in the corner of the field.

"Well, maybe tea or hot chocolate, but there's no hurry. We can stop after we go up the next row. Hey, look – a Mustang. It's not the same year as yours, is it?"

"I think this one's a year older."

Eames grabbed his hand to pull him along to talk to the Mustang owner. Bobby kept hold all through their conversation, and felt a smile on his face the entire time. She obviously knew it, too, because she kept peeking up with a playful expression.

Eames' phone went off, and they exchanged a worried look as she checked the display. "It's Jae Chun," she said before flipping it open. "Eames…. Hi, Jae." As she listened she let out a sigh of relief. "That's great news. Thanks for calling. … You're welcome – I'm glad he's going to be okay. … Yeah, I'll let him know, too. We'll be in touch.

"They might send his dad home tomorrow," she told Bobby as she slid the phone back into her pocket. "Jae says he wants us to come by so he can thank us."

Bobby pushed his hands into his jeans pockets. "Okay."

"And who knows? Maybe while we're there Mrs. Wellman will stop by with more chicken parm."

"I'll cook chicken parm for you," Bobby said. "Any time."

"Okay, you got a deal." She started to adjust her purse strap on her shoulder, and paused mid-way, looking up at him thoughtfully. Bobby wondered what was going on in her brain. He waited for her to move or speak.

"Your beard looks good," she said.

"Oh." He rubbed his fingers along his jaw. "Umm, I thought you liked…"

"As long as you don't turn into Grizzly Adams or anything." She shrugged and grinned, turning to the next row of cars. She froze suddenly, with an expression of shock.

"What happened? Alex?"

"I have got to see this." She clutched his arm and began dragging him along with her. Bobby looked around, trying to identify what she was aiming at.

They stopped in front of two 1968 Camaros: one yellow and one black. The yellow one had two wide black racing stripes up the hood and over the roof, bordered by narrow white stripes. The black car had had similar stripes in yellow and white; they were a perfect, color coordinated, showroom condition set.

Eames gazed at the cars, completely awestruck. "This is the most beautiful thing I ever saw."

"Camaros, huh?"

"And '68 is my favorite year." She approached the owner, who sat in a lawn chair between the cars with a small cooler at his side. Within a minute they were in an intense conversation as they walked around the cars. Bobby stood back to watch as she examined the engines, upholstery, dashboard, tires and even wiper blades. She looked as excited as he'd ever seen her.

Suddenly she was holding out her phone to him. "Bobby, will you take a picture of me with the cars?"

The owner had followed her. "You want me to take it of both of you?"

"Yeah, thanks." Eames handed him the phone, showed him which button to push, and pulled Bobby to stand with her between the two Camaros. "Be sure to get plenty of car in the shot," she called as she slid her arm around Bobby's waist.

He put his arm across her shoulders and smiled. He wanted to keep holding her, but she darted away to check the picture. She returned with the phone to show him: they looked happy.

"Hang on," she said, leaning over the phone, "I'll send this to you right now…. There you go." His phone beeped in his pocket, and she looked up with a grin, shaking her hair back from her face. She was standing so close, and she looked so beautiful. Suddenly Bobby wasn't sure if they were right to try dating – maybe this was too successful.

"So," he said, looking over her head across the field of cars, "you want to keep going?"

"Of course – we're not even halfway through yet. Who knows what other treasures are out there?"

She held out her hand to him, and he hesitantly grasped it. She waved goodbye to the owner of the Camaros as they continued along the grassy aisle. Eames kept breaking away to inspect cars and chat with owners, but she always returned and slipped her hand back into his. Bobby's spike of uneasiness soon faded. He had hoped that she would enjoy the car show; her happiness went beyond his best expectations for the day, and it filled him with a feeling of contentment.

They made it through the whole field, and were discussing where to eat when Eames' phone went off again. She grimaced when she checked the caller ID. "It's Ross." She answered it, and as she listened to the captain she gave Bobby a thumbs-up. "Did you already call Goren?" she asked with a grin. "No, I'll call him. … No problem. … Yes, sir."

She took her time closing the phone and putting it back into her pocket. "The Russos are being moved to holding at One PP this afternoon. Their arraignment is tomorrow afternoon. Ross thinks the DA will offer Linda a deal."

Bobby's only response was a nod. If Eames wanted to head in to MCS to interview the Russos he'd go along – but he wasn't going to suggest it. He would rather not step back into work mode if he didn't have to.

What a relief when she reached for his hand again. She said, "Let's try that Vietnamese restaurant we saw on the way here."

He gave a squeeze and entwined his fingers with hers. "Sounds good." They began walking around the field toward the parking lot. "You want a souvenir before we go? A can of Turtle Wax?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Umm…. Bobby?"

"What?" When he looked at her, the mischievous sparkle had returned.

"Is it okay if I drive your car?"

* * *

Eames turned into her driveway, pulled up close behind her own car, and shut off the Mustang's engine. Neither made a move to get out of the car yet. She leaned back against the seat and asked, "Want to come in?"

Bobby looked at her. If he'd come here for anything other than a date, he wouldn't hesitate; if he'd been on such a good first date with any other woman he wouldn't hesitate, either. But he knew he needed to exercise the caution that had delayed him in asking her out in the first place. He could sense the same concern in her.

"Thanks, but I guess I'd better not," he said. "I'll let you take care of your errands or…."

"Yeah, okay." She seemed to understand. She stepped out of the car and waited for him to come around from the passenger side. "Thanks for letting me drive. This was… I had a great time today. Every minute."

"Me, too." He kissed her cheek and he felt her lips press against his cheek in return. She didn't let him draw away – her arms went around his waist in a hug. He held her, gently rubbing her back, for as long as she would let him.

"Bobby?" Her voice was muffled in his coat.

"Alex?" He was sure he felt her smile against his shoulder. She loosened her grip and leaned back just enough to see his face.

"This is the best first date I ever had – hands down the best."

"Good." He let his finger slide lightly along her temple, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was still holding onto him, looking at him expectantly – that peck on the cheek apparently wasn't enough.

"So," he said. He leaned down to steal a quick kiss. "Does this mean we're going dancing on Friday?"

* * *

For three full minutes as he started on the way home, Bobby concentrated his thoughts on the Chun case, mentally organizing the information he would give to ADA Fredericks when they met with her in the morning. But very soon he found himself humming along with the radio, and he gave up trying to avoid thinking about Alex. In the morning there would be enough unpleasantness as they dealt with the Russos, but for now he felt absolutely at peace. It was nobody's business if he wanted to drive along with a silly grin on his face.

She said yes.

* * *

THE END

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